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Damaged (1 Viewer)

Darkkin

WF Veterans
Damaged

It is not seen
nor heard

just a ghostly pressure
that collects
in the void

to crush
and
constrict

a collasping
neutron star

so great the weight
but not of the mind

such a delicate spread
fingers through walls
fresh red to starved blues

spectral tracery
begun as one
thin thread

a filament
of hurt

that leaves you
questioning
if this is hell

this is my elephant
thunderous mar

damage no one sees
an invisible, costly
scar...
 

jenthepen

Staff member
Mentor
Small incidents can have such unseen lingering consequences, truly ripples in a lake ever growing. Your poem traces the resulting emotions so delicately but the impact is severe. Emotions well captured.
 

Darkkin

WF Veterans
Small incidents can have such unseen lingering consequences, truly ripples in a lake ever growing. Your poem traces the resulting emotions so delicately but the impact is severe. Emotions well captured.


Perception and interpretation are very interesting things. How no two people ever read the same thing...Because the source of this piece is physical in the extreme, a litetal manifestation of one of my angina attacks that yanked me out of my sleep.

It is what many would call an invisible illness. Nobody looking at me would know I have severe cardiovascular disease.

Yes, I'm a bit on the smaller side and kinda see through pallor wise, but I also tend to avoid direct sunlight because of sensory issues associated with my ASD.

Cloudy day? I'm all for being outside. Raining. Ditto. Snowing. Whoot. Evening, early morning, I got this.

Sunny 70° May afternoon. Nope, I do not exist in this construct.

Sorry about the sidetrack...any who, just with my spectrum issues, I've been dealing with this very specific pain for as long as I can remember. My mom told me I told her my chest hurt when I was a little more than two and one of my earliest memories is pushing my adored cat off my chest because it really hurt. And for me to displace my cat, that is a very big thing.

You learn to hide it from others and develop a strange tolerance for it that lets you function around what would leave most people writhing or convinced they were having a heart attack.

Turn away so no one sees your face crumple, breathe a little, and walk it off, knowing full well it will return in 2 - 5 minutes to try and crush the life out of you again.
 

jenthepen

Staff member
Mentor
Yes, your poem says all that too. I had no idea that you live with this, Darkkin. Kudos for taking an ongoing difficulty and creating a powerful piece of artistic expression around it. The poem has a deeper meaning now.
 
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